Megalithic Symphony
by Poisonchik88
Summary: A collection of Sherlock drabbles and one-shots. Contains a variety of pairings and genres.
1. Forever Changed: JohnSherlock

It's been a year since- since _it._ _He still can't even say it. Died has become a forbidden word at Baker's Street_.

The flat is too quiet without Sherlock blowing something up in the name of science, slamming doors, or muttering as he sulks about some perceived injustice.

The quiet just gets to be too much sometimes. It screams the truth and John just doesn't want to here.

When the quiet becomes unbearable, he breaks and gets a box off the top of his closet. His hand automatically drifts over the clipped out newspaper clips. Only on_ really _bad days, when the words he never, said get stuck in his throat and threaten to suffocate him; does he run his fingers over a familiar blue scarf.

These are the only times he allows himself to think about could have been.

No one had ever understood their relationship. They were constantly warning him away from Sherlock. Saying Sherlock was bad for John and was screwing up everything in his life.

But when that quiet sets in, John knows he needs Sherlock to screw it up some more.

"_T__here's just one more thing, one more thing, one more miracle, Sherlock, for me. Don't. Be. Dead. Would you do that, just for me."_

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_I hope that you enjoyed it. Thanks for reading and hope you leave some feedback. _

_Dee._


	2. Gravity: JohnSherlock

**Chapter Two: Gravity**

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"_Why him? Why Sherlock? Of the blokes…"_ Lestrade asks one night after too much beer at the pub.

John and Sherlock get each other like nobody else gets them. They share everything. It's easy. It's natural. It's like gravity. How can you fight it? How can you not fall?

He could never understand why no one else seemed to get it.

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_I hope that you enjoyed it. Thanks for reading and hope you leave some feedback. _

_Dee._


	3. Liar Liar SherlockJohn

**Chapter Three**

**Title: Liar Liar **

**Summary: Sherlock/John**

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Sherlock tries to tell himself that he doesn't care that John has moved on. He tells himself he doesn't want to rip Lestrade's arms off from his socket every time Mycroft sends him a picture of Lestrade's arms around John. He tells himself he doesn't need John, that what he feels is just a chemical malfunction in his brain from lack of proper substance and sleep. Attachment is just a version of perversion ordinary people feel.

_He is not ordinary._

Sherlock tells himself he is only going back to Baker Street because it's safe now. He tells himself it isn't for John.

But when he comes back to Baker Street beaten, bruised, and malnourished John's there. And it's hard to deny he's the only person Sherlock wanted to see in the first place.

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_I hope that you enjoyed it. Thanks for reading and hope you leave some feedback. _

_Dee._


	4. Spider Bite: MycroftIrene

**Chapter Five**

**Title: Spider Bite**

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Rules. Mycroft Holmes loved rules. They are clear-cut and orderly. They tell you what to do and when to do it. And all you have to do is follow them. It's as simple and easy as that. At least it used to be. You see, he thought he knew all the rules. Was logical enough to know better than to break the rules.

Logic was such a liar. From the moment he met her, Mycroft broke all the rules. And started down a little road of sin breaking every damn rule along the way. It was a power play – a game to see who would give in first. He fell to his knees the moment he laid eyes on her.

She was petite, cute and social pariah. Who was deceptively dangerous. Coiled and precise. Dangerous and unstable. She has dark eyes and lips you find yourself staring at while she's talking. But she's all curves and mist like a hall of mirrors. Because with her you can never know for sure whether you're in control or you're being played.

Irene was like a spider. But not just any spider. The most deadly spider known to man. The black widow. A black window spins a venoms web around her mate, drawing him in to just where she wants them and then she strikes –killing him instantly. The black widow has keen senses and a quick wit. The black widow stalks their prey with the sinuous sureness of a jaguarundi. Just like her. And like the black widow Irene was friendless, respected by her enemies and possessed an uncanny knack for survival. She was a lethal, ruthless, predator on the prowl, spider spinning her web.

And he's been spun and sold again. Despite everything he loves her, like a punch to the gut, hard and visceral. It is instinctual, base, feral. A desire that hooked into him and won't let him go. And when Irene's mouth is on the back of his neck, and his hand on Irene's bare hip holding on, holding tight, to something he doesn't want to know. He's aware of just how far gone he really is. But he can't let go. Can't stop. Can't take his love and hate her till the end of time like he's suppose to. He was addicted. Addicted to the sight of her flesh littered with handprint bruises, bite marks and scratches. Rough sex and urgent, frantic, kisses so rough his lips almost bleed, fucking that was sure to leave her sore for days and no words other than 'faster, harder, more and yes.' He tries to show her every time, to tell her those three little words he can't quite bring himself to say. To pour his heart out in her in every touch, and kiss he placed upon her silky skin.

But he knows it isn't enough to keep her. Not enough to stop him either. Not enough to stop him from trying to take her down. Mycroft nows he has to do this. Knows he'll lose her for good and there's a good chance she'll send someone to make him a corpse. But this is his job. This is the deal. This is the law. This is his day. He has no doubts or suspicions about it. Heart has nothing to do with it any more.

But even knowing that he can't stop the layers of insomnia and hangover damage he's accumulating as fast as he can. Can't stop seeing her in the dead of the night. He doesn't know what this is, but she got him good just like she knew she would. She was self destructive and self -loathing to an almost pathological degree. But so was he. Because he made this, he created this. He made this hurt it was consequences of what he choose.

He should have followed the goddamn rules.

She was a kamikaze woman and now she was going to take him down with her, as he lay helpless in her web.

But from the moment they started this both of them knew how this would end: in pain and suffering.

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_I hope that you enjoyed it. Thanks for reading and hope you leave some feedback. _

_Dee._


	5. Bad Habit: MycroftLestrade

**Chapter Five: **

**Title: Bad Habit. Mycroft/Lestrade.**

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This is absolutely the last time.

"I knew you wouldn't be able to stay away." Mycroft grinned at him with a cocky smile as he licked his lips in anticipation.

He was right – Lestrade wouldn't dare stay away. He couldn't say no when it came to him. Mycroft was his favorite damn disease. And Lestrade knows he should make him stop. Lestrade should beg him to stop before the slip to far over that ledge. But he needs this. He was hooked on Mycroft.

Just one more time and then it was over.

Just a little bit more … Just one more fix…. She could take it….Just one last time… Then she would stop. She should make it stop.

"_Please don't stop." _

It's wrong, oh so very wrong. He's married and Mycroft's technically his boss.

But here they are anyway, wrapped in black stain sheets with his nails scratching a path down Mycroft's back. He tells himself that he doesn't want to do this anymore, doesn't want him. Doesn't want to feel like this. But the truth is that he wants this more than he wanted anything. Has since the moment he meet him. He just wishes it wasn't him that made him feel like this.

Mycroft's hands are cool as they slip down his waist and he gasps when his tongue teasingly follows the path of hands.

"Tell me you want me." He whispers in the sensitive shell of his ear. His voice is dangerous and full of so many damn promises that he doesn't want Mycroft to keep but needs him to keep.

"I want you."

Mycroft bites hard into his shoulder, and the satin sheets are cold on his skin and he bites his lip to keep from crying out. His dark brown eyes are on him enigmatically. Lestrade wishes he wasn't even more appealing with that hazy gleam of lust in his eyes, that thatch of hair falling over his eyebrows and his shoulders gleaming with sweat.

"This is the last time." He breathes out before his mouth opens in a soft gasp as he dips his head between his legs. They both know he's lying. They both know he is never going to quit him. It was self- indulgent and self- destructive but it was worth the momentary gain.

There's not a chance in hell he'll stop and not a chance he'll let her.

His fingers grip his hair and forces him closer. In moments like this he wonders how he manages to breathe without him.

"Mycroft." He whimpers as he moves against him or away from him at this point he's not even sure. Sometimes he can't even tell the difference.

Lestrade doesn't like Mycroft, but he wants him. Needs him. He should make it all stop but he arches his back and moans _more, please, and yes right there. _

And when it's over and he is walking out the door he thinks. 'Just one more time and after this I'm done…. Just one more'

But, they don't call them bad habits for nothing.

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_I hope that you enjoyed it. Thanks for reading and hope you leave some feedback._

_Dee._


	6. Violent Delights: MollyJim

**Chapter Six**

**Title: Forbidden. **

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_"These violent delights have violent ends. And in their triump die, like fire and powder. Which, as they kiss, consume" ― William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet_

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"Molly.." His voice caressed the senses even as it heated them.

Molly sat up in her tumbled bed. He stood just outside the doorway watching her as moonlight spilled around him.

"Are you crazy? If they find you.." Molly shuddered.

He started toward her with that long, pacing panther stride of his. One corner of his mouth kicked up in a cruel smile.

"Love and death are everything, princess. Danger is the best part of the game. I thought you knew that?"

The words tumbled from his lips in rumble of heat and hunger before he bent his head to her lips, the angle of her jaw, the curve of her collar bone, stringing a line of hard kisses and bites along her skin.

Closing her eyes, she fisted her hands in his short, silky hair and held fast to her own dark knight.

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_I hope that you enjoyed it. Thanks for reading and hope you leave some feedback. _

_Dee._


End file.
